Future
by Casteline
Summary: Peter is his future. Follows 2x16 Under the Radar. Neal/Peter and Neal/Peter/Elizabeth.


A little bit of fluff, a pinch of cheese, and a dash of angst (okay, there's a lot of angst, and enough cheese and fluff to get you through it).

* * *

**Future**

Neal wanted to scream at Peter. He wanted to yell until his lungs hurt. He wanted to do whatever it took to make Peter believe him, to make him see that he didn't take the treasure, that this wasn't him. He didn't do it, he wasn't involved. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be heard.

Instead, he walked away. He knew Peter wasn't going to see reason. Peter wasn't going to listen. So he walked away.

Somehow, he really isn't sure how, instead of walking to June's, he found himself at the Burke's. It wasn't until he rang the doorbell and Elizabeth answered that he ever really realized where he was.

"Neal," she said with a smile. Then her face fell. She could immediately see he was upset. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Neal opened his mouth. But what was he supposed to say? He couldn't very well rage at her because her husband didn't trust him. Because he didn't trust a career con who was still working out his 4 year sentence. How could he get angry at Elizabeth because Peter was only following his instincts (even if his instincts were wrong)?

So Neal didn't say anything. He just closed his eyes and shook his head and started to apologize for interrupting whatever she may have been doing as he turned to leave.

But she stopped him.

"What did he do?" she asked, pulling him into the house.

"How did you know?" he asked. Of course she knew. She always knew, how could she not?

"Peter is the only one that can get you in this kind of mood," she said, because she knew. She always knew.

Neal Caffrey had a way of convincing people to do what he wanted. He had charm and charisma and always knew the right words needed to get what he wanted. Elizabeth wasn't like him. She was better.

She sat him down on the couch and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured them each a glass and sat down next to him, but never said a word. She just silently sipped her wine, while Neal stared blankly into his. She waited patiently until he began to talk, and she listened silently while he did.

Once he started talking, it was like he forgot how to stop. He told her everything. He told everything that popped into his head, all the things he wasn't supposed to say, for a myriad of reasons, and he just kept talking. He told her things he swore he'd never say aloud, and things that didn't matter and things that really, really did matter. He voiced thoughts he'd never even realized, thoughts he would have been better of not knowing himself.

He told her about Kate, and how in the moments before she died, he was going to choose Peter. Somehow, she didn't seem surprised by this, but then, she hadn't seemed surprised by much of anything yet, so why would this be any different?

He felt really stupid, saying some things. Things that he'd never said out loud before, and when he did, it all sounded absurd. And things that he didn't want to say, because he wasn't supposed to say them, but he was talking and he couldn't stop. He felt so stupid, because this was Elizabeth, this was Peter's wife and they are perfect and beautiful and they don't keep secrets, not even where Neal is concerned. _Especially_ where Neal is concerned. So, yeah, he felt really, really stupid, because he doesn't want Peter to know these things, and Elizabeth would never in a million years _not_ tell Peter. Neal really, really doesn't want Peter to know these things, but he just keeps talking.

And she just sat there listening, occasionally voicing soothing thoughts.

And then he told her why. He told her why he chose Peter over Kate (though, he really didn't have the chance to make the choice, but he did choose him), and why he really, really hates Peter sometimes, and why sometimes he tries to hate Elizabeth sometimes, but it's really, really impossible, and why, right then, at that very moment, he was so very upset.

And the worst part was, all she said in return was "I know."

She knew. Of course she knew, because she was Elizabeth and she always knew. She knew everything.

She smiled at him and rubbed soothing circles in his back. She wasn't angry, not even a little upset by his confession. She was comforting and wonderful and he really, really wished she would be angry instead. Angry he could deal with. If she yelled at him, he could yell back, he could scream and he could just walk away. But she was sweet, and warm and Elizabeth and he really had no idea what to do with that.

It's just then that Peter walks in the front door and he looks tired and like he wants nothing more than to curl up on the couch with Elizabeth, but the problem is that Neal is there, and he can't quite read the expression on Peter's face when he realizes that fact.

"I think you boys need to talk," Elizabeth said, rising from the couch. Sachtmo jumped up too, because he somehow knew that them talking means he got to go for a walk. Peter and Neal knew this too, and both shot her pleading looks that she was fully aware of, but ignored completely. She and the dog walked out of the house, leaving Peter and Neal standing in the middle of the living room.

"I didn't do it, Peter," Neal finally said. "I didn't. I swear to you."

"I wish I could believe you," Peter replied. He wanted to. He really did. No. He _did_ believe. His heart believed that Neal was as innocent as he claimed, but his head knows better.

"But you can't," Neal finished. "God, why can't you just trust me, just once?"

"Give me a reason I should?" Peter retorted, though he knew it was unfair because Neal had proven, more than once, that he could be trusted.

"Because I didn't do it," he half-shouted. He was getting more and more frustrated the longer he was in the room with him. "I wouldn't, Peter. I wouldn't do that do you."

"Why?" Peter asked. "What makes me any different from one of your marks?"

"You know exactly what," Neal said angrily, because if El knew, Peter certainly did.

"No, I really don't," he said. "Explain it to me. Tell me how I'm different."

"Because I'm in love with you!"

And just like that, everything stopped. A million years happened in a nanosecond, but nothing happened.

Peter's jaw was still hanging open when Elizabeth returned, but Neal was nowhere to be seen. Peter didn't even know how long he'd been standing there before El shook him out of his stupor.

"Honey?" she asked, putting a hand on his arm. "Are you okay? Where's Neal?"

Peter shook his head, though she wasn't sure which question he was answering, she figured it was probably both.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "We should talk."

And then she did exactly what Neal was terrified she would do, what he knew she would do: told Peter everything.

He knew. He knew that she would tell him every word, and he thought he really, really didn't want him to know any of the things he'd said, but that fear was never enough to stop him from talking and maybe deep down, he really, really did want Peter to know.

When Neal got back to June's (he didn't think of it as home, not right then, because it felt so very, very far from home), there was a note and a key waiting for him. A combination of curiosity and desire to escape led him to follow the address to a warehouse.

He didn't know what to expect when he stuck the key in the door and pushed it open. Part of him, a big part, was expecting it to be Adler blowing him up. He may have been dead, but his reach extended well beyond the grave.

So when he opened the door and didn't find explosives, but the treasure, he was quite shocked. It had survived. The treasure hadn't been destroyed. It was here. Someone had taken it all and blown the submarine to get rid of the evidence and it was _here_ and it was _his._ A grin began to form on his face.

But the smile was gone almost immediately, and then Peter was calling. Neal ignored it. Peter called again. Neal ignored it.

Peter called again.

Neal ignored it.

He could talk to him. He didn't want to hear what Peter had to say. He didn't care.

He did care, of course, despite his best efforts. But he didn't want to hear what Peter had to say. He already knew, and hearing him say it would not make things any better.

Peter called again. Neal ignored it.

"Your doing, I suppose," Neal asked when he found Mozzie in his room.

"Of course," Mozzie said. "Suit was here," he added.

"I don't care," Neal said. He already knew that Peter had been there. He smelled him in the hallway and Neal really, really, _really_ wished he hadn't been able to identify that so easily.

"Ah, do I sense trouble?" Mozzie asked.

"You should have done it," Neal said, setting the key on the table. He doesn't say it like a thank you. He isn't grateful. "You shouldn't."

Peter called again. Neal ignored it.

Peter called again from El's phone. Neal answered, because it was Elizabeth, but he hung up the moment he realized it wasn't. He doesn't fall for it again.

Peter called again. Neal ignored it.

Peter stopped by June's again. Neal hides in the closet like a child and pretends he isn't home until Peter goes away. Then he tells June not to let Peter in again.

Peter called again. Neal ignored it.

Diana called. Neal answered, praying to whatever god would listen that it's not Peter, or worse, that it's a case.

"Got a new case," Diana told him. Naturally. "Meet in the office in half an hour." Of course. Because there wasn't a god out there who gave a damn about Neal.

Neal didn't say anything to Peter, and Peter didn't say anything to Neal, for which he was eternally grateful because as much as he really didn't want to even look at Peter again, he _really _didn't want to have this out in public, let alone in the FBI.

Diana and Jones and _everyone_ knew that something was wrong because Peter and Neal weren't looking at each other, and they weren't talking to each other unless necessary, and Neal was really quite which was _really_ bizarre. But no one said anything because Peter was way too scary when he was mad. But Peter and Neal both saw the glanced Diana and Jones and the others were shooting each other, as if asking if anyone knew anything, or perhaps seeing if anyone is stupid enough to dare to ask. No one did, and no one was.

They wrapped up the case impossibly quickly, so maybe there was a god who cared.

Neal walked home. Peter called again. Neal ignored him. Instead he checked his messages. Only one. Peter hadn't been leaving any, but Elizabeth had left one.

"Hear him out please," she said. Neal deletes the message.

June apparently didn't take him seriously when he said not to let Peter in, because he arrived just a few minutes after Neal did. Neal hid in the closet again, but Peter knew he was home.

"Neal, please," he said, entering the room. Neal wasn't there, but Peter knew. He looked around for a few moments, then tried the closet. Neal practically jumped out of his skin when the handle jiggled, but didn't open. Thank god for locks.

"I know you're in there," Peter said. Neal ignored him. "You don't have to say anything, please just listen." Neal could hear him moving around. When he started talking, his voice was lower to the ground. He was sitting with his back to the wall. "I talk to El," he said. "She told me everything. Everything you told her."

He must have really wanted Peter to know all those things, because he couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. Somehow, he doesn't know how, Neal had moved from the far side of the closet to the wall next to the door, and he sat down, his back against Peter's, with only the thin wall separating them.

"I didn't know," Peter continued. "I didn't realize," he started again. He couldn't find the words to voice what he wanted to say. "I take it back," he said. Neal could hear him rise to his feet. Neal was on his feet, too. "Open the door," he said. "I need to look at you."

Both of them were surprised that it was enough to open the door. They stared at each other for a long while.

"Well?" Neal asked.

Just like that, Peter's lips were on his. His hands were on his face and his lips were pressed into Neal's and god, this felt good. Neal could feel himself melting into Peter. But it wasn't supposed to be like that. It was wrong. But _god_ it felt so right. It felt wonderful and impossible and he never wanted to stop.

He pulled back, despite everything his body was telling him. He couldn't do this. He could be the one to ruin a perfect marriage like Elizabeth and Peter's. He couldn't do this to Elizabeth. It had to stop before he hurt her, and Peter, and himself, which was stupid, because he knew how broken he already was, and just prying himself from Peter's arms hurt, _burned_.

He closed his eyes and pulled as far away from Peter as he could manage (which wasn't all that far, because Peter had an arm wrapped around his waist and he just couldn't bring himself to fight it).

"I can't do this," Neal said, shaking his head, his eyes still closed. He couldn't look at Peter, because if he did, he really didn't know what he would do. "I can't. I love you. I love you so unbelievably much, you have no idea, but it can't ever be anything. I love Elizabeth too much to do that to her. I should never have said anything-"

Peter cut him off with another kiss.

"El loves you, too," he said. "And she loves me, and I love her, and I love you. It's okay."

Neal opened his eyes finally, and gave Peter a questioning look. He had no idea if Peter was actually saying what he thought he was saying. Neal started to talk, to question, but he was pretty sure he wasn't making any sense. Peter kissed him again, a cheap and effective way of shutting him. Now that he knows it works so well, he'll no doubt use it quite often.

"You have no idea," Neal said. "How wonderful that feels." But Peter did know, because he felt it, too. He kissed him again, because he loved the way it felt, and because he loved the effect it had on Neal.

"You really," Peter started, and then stopped. He shouldn't ask.

"What?"

"You were really going to stay?" he finished. He hated himself for it, because he shouldn't get high off the superiority he felt over a dead girl, but he did.

"Yes," Neal said, and he hated it too because she was dead and he wouldn't feel nearly as terrible if she was alive. "It's different," he said. "I wanted to run away with her. I wanted to be anyone, _everyone_ but me. With you, I just want to stay here. I want to take down the bad guys with you, in my sometimes slightly less than legal way. You look at me, and I'm _me_. I don't want to run. I want to tell you everything. It's different."

Peter kissed him again, because he knew how hard it was for Neal to say these things and he didn't want him to feel like he had to.

A week or so later, they're at home (the Burke's, that is, which was really the only place Neal had ever felt really at home, but this was the first time he could admit that without feeling like he'd done something wrong) and Peter and Neal were sitting on the couch, sifting through stacks of cases, trying to choose one more interesting than mortgage fraud. Neal knows he can't spend too much time there, even though Peter and Elizabeth have made it clear that he is more than welcome, because it was pretty much illegal for there to be any kind of relationship like theirs between Agent and CI (hadn't they handled a case like this not all that long ago). The Burkes' was well outside Neal's radius, and while Jones (and anyone else who frequently monitored his anklet) had grown to ignore any alert when it was clear he was going to Peter's, they would eventually get suspicious if he spent too much time there.

"I was wondering where you boys got off to," Elizabeth said, coming down the stairs early that morning, already dressed for work. Neal had come down some hours before to get a bit of work done, and had dozed off on the couch.

"Morning, El," Peter smiled at her. He didn't make any attempts to move, because Neal was still asleep in his arms and a move he made would likely wake him.

"You, too sure look cozy," she said, giving Neal a light kiss to the temple, then doing the same to Peter.

"Heading in early?" Peter asked quietly.

Elizabeth nodded. "I'll see you two for lunch?" she asked.

Peter smiled. "It's a date."

"Don't forget to feed Satch," she said, walking toward the door. "Bye, Hon."

"Bye, Hon," Peter repeated.

"Bye, El," Neal said sleepily.

Elizabeth let out a laugh. "Bye, Neal." Then she walked out the front door.

"Didn't think you were awake," Peter said.

"'M not," he replied. Peter kissed his neck.

The two of them laid there a while longer, until sometime overcame Neal.

"Peter," he said.

"Yes, Neal?"

Suddenly, Neal sat up and moved to sit on the coffee table so he could look at Peter. His face was serious.

"What is it, Neal?"

"I didn't steal the treasure," he said.

"I know," Peter said. "I believe you."

Neal stopped for a second, his mind racing because he's got a choice, another terrible choice that he doesn't want to make, be he's kind of already made it.

"It didn't burn," he said. "I didn't steal it, but I know where it is."

In an instant, he'd burned the last bridge he had. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Peter made the connection to Mozzie (and it was Peter, so he'd probably already figured it out). For a moment, he hated himself for saying it, because Mozzie was his best friend, his mentor, the one who'd taught him most of what he knew. He was the only past he had left, and he was burning him. He would send him a warning, tell him to get out, but he'd never see him again. He'd convince Peter not to search too hard (not that it really mattered, because if there was one thing Mozzie was good at, it was avoiding being found). He didn't want to choose between Mozzie and Peter. If there was any way in the world, he wouldn't have.

But Mozzie was the past. Peter was the future. He didn't like keeping secrets from Peter, and this secret was huge. He couldn't keep it from him, not now. Mozzie was his past.

"I know where it is," he said again.

Peter is his future.


End file.
